


To Be Drunk Again

by beatlelover22



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Cold, Common Cold, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sick Character, Sick Steve, Sickfic, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatlelover22/pseuds/beatlelover22
Summary: Steve grimaced at the sound of his own voice. He couldn’t get drunk but he could catch a cold. Go figure.





	To Be Drunk Again

Peggy Carter was deeply concerned for her colleague, Steve Rogers. On a recent mission, his closest and oldest friend, Bucky Barnes, had died serving their country. 

Although she knew Steve was incredibly strong, both mentally and physically, he’d taken Bucky’s death pretty hard. When Peggy couldn’t find him, she decided to search one last place and found him there, back turned away from her, sitting alone in a bar mostly destroyed by the war.

“Are you in the mood for a bit of company?” she asked, side-stepping a pile of glass and pulling up a chair

. As soon as Steve turned to face her, she knew he was worse off than she had originally thought. His eyes were bleary and red-rimmed, like he’d been crying, and his face was flushed pink. She had a strange urge to reach out and fix his disheveled hair back into place. 

“Oh, Steve...”

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then abruptly changed his mind and set down his drink. With a large inhale, he jerked away from her and sneezed. “ _Heh’ **SHOOO!**_ ”

“Bless you.” Peggy bit her lip.

“I...” Steve’s voice was hoarse, so much so that he had trouble speaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I, um, can’t get drunk. It has something to do with my cells and their regenerative properties. Did you know that?”

“Doctor Erskine mentioned something of that nature,” Peggy admitted, searching Steve’s eyes for some light. All she saw were the dark circles under his eyes. “Steve... it’s not your fault, you know that, right?”

Steve gave a bitter laugh. “Not my fault. Right.”

“No, really,” Peggy insisted, placing her hands over his. “It wasn’t your fault. He made a decision to stand by you and I think... I think if he could’ve done it over, he would’ve died for you, again.”

“That’s not what I ever would’ve wanted for him!” he snapped, immediately regretting his tone. “I’m sorry.” His shoulders slumped.

“I just think you’re—”

Steve suddenly took his hands back, one hovering near his face. “ _Hahh... hah’ **SHHH!** K’ **FSHH!**_ ” He sniffled, feeling his nose begin to run, and blushed. “E-excuse be.”

“Are you alright?”

He rubbed his nose with a finger, praying she couldn’t see how much his nose was torturing him. “I’b _f-fihhh_... fide.” 

Sensing the inevitable, he held up a hand. “Ehhh... hehh... excuse b-be— _hur’ **ESHHOO!**_ ” He sneezed into the crook of his elbow, blushing furiously.

“Would you like my handkerchief?” the young woman asked politely, immediately reaching inside her coat pocket.

Steve shook his head, a knuckle under his nose. “Doe, doe, I couldn’t ask thad of you.”

Peggy ignored this and pressed the piece of cloth into his free hand. “Please. It looks like your nose has other ideas.”

The young man’s nostrils trembled. “ _Hihh... hiHH! Hh’ **ISHOO!**_ ” He gave in to the folds of her handkerchief and sneezed another ticklish double. “ _Hh’ **SHHH!** Hahh! AahH! Hah’ **PSHHH!**_ ”

“God bless,” Peggy told him sincerely. “Are you quite sure you’re not falling ill?”

Steve rubbed his nose roughly in the handkerchief, trying to alleviate an itch that wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’b dot— I bean, I cad’t ged sigg. I think thad’s whad Doctor Erskide said.” 

Steve grimaced at the sound of his own voice. He couldn’t get drunk but he could catch a cold. Go figure.

Peggy scoffed. “Please. You aren’t very convincing. You’re terribly pale.”

“I’b always p-pale,” Steve countered, breath hitching. “ _Hh’ **CHOO!**_ ”

“Bless you. Please Steve, you can’t sit here alone. This pub is beyond wrecked. Glass everywhere, drafty... if you’re not sick already, you’ll catch your death in here.”

“Please, Peggy...” Steve trailed off to give his irritated nose a quick rub. “I’b fide. I dod’t deed adybody to _t-tahh..._ take care of be. I’b— _ekk’ **SHUHH!**_ ” 

He sneezed into his hands and internally cringed, knowing it was impolite. 

“Excuse b—” He started to speak but Peggy had already grasped his hands.

“Steve, you don’t feel well. Don’t make me get Colonel Phillips out here.”

Stomach sinking, Steve gave in. He stood up, swayed a bit, and made his way towards Peggy. “Dot drunk,” he reminded her. “Dizzy.”

“I know,” she replied, lacing her fingers through his as they walked through the frigid afternoon air. “I know.”


End file.
